


Mourning Practices

by QuickYoke



Series: The Wonder Years of the Greatest Generation [5]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Peggy 'Mega Angst' Carter, grumpy Peggy and engineer Angie make a fabulously angsty return, see this is why I wrote the long part from Angie's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3437243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickYoke/pseuds/QuickYoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little drabble from Peggy's point of view in "The Scheme of Things" universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mourning Practices

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read "The Scheme of Things" this will make little sense.

It was the first anniversary of Steve’s death, and Peggy didn’t know what to do with herself.

She spent the majority of the day scowling and snapping at her junior officers, sending them running for the hills. That and alternatively choking back the urge to crumple up in the cot set up in the corner of her office and cry.

Mostly she paced, restless, wringing her hands behind her back, shoulders square. Her immediate underlings, Brody and Luthra, avoided her to the best of their abilities, except for when Brody snuck into her office with frequent offerings of milky black tea, like libations to appease an angry god.

Eventually she stalked out of the Command building to wander the grounds. A sergeant leading a platoon of cadets saw her and opened his mouth to shout for his little cadets to all salute an officer. Peggy gave him a look so deadly it should have flayed him alive on the spot. Instead he closed his mouth and hurried his platoon along, and Peggy continued on her way.

She walked without a destination, but her feet seemed to know where they wanted to go.

On the best of days Peggy tried not to think about airplanes. Which was difficult to accomplish when you worked at a place like RAE Farnborough. But as most of her time was spent underground in the secret sub-basements, it wasn’t as difficult as one might think. Of course Peggy would never actively seek out the company of aircrafts and those closely associated with them.

Except for today.

When she skirted the floor of the hangar, none of the engineers noticed her. An ideal situation, really. She ghosted around the skeletons of planes, and it made her feel-

She hesitated to use the word ‘better.’ It sounded too optimistic.

But it certainly made her feel _something_.

There was a great clanging behind her, and she turned. She would have expected a barrel-chested, lanky-armed man to be half submerged in a fighter-bomber’s engine. Not a wide-eyed, straw-haired wisp of a girl, staring at her like she was a gorgon. Though, admittedly, Peggy did have a reputation among the junior officers. It must have showed, for the girl, flustered, dove back into her work, giving Peggy time to escape without further notice.

She returned to Command, and immediately regretted that decision. Major-General Spencer called her into his office and tried making her a Lieutenant Colonel today of all days. Spencer was adamant, though he underestimated her stubbornness.

“Respectfully, sir: No.”

He tried staring her down over his desk to no avail, “This isn’t something you can turn down, Carter.”

When she had first entered the room, he’d told her to stand at east, but her stance remained stiff, jaw tight, “I can’t turn down medals, sir. But I _can_ turn down promotions.”

She would know. She’d tried turning down medals in the past. The problem was that medals weren’t for her. They were for giving to her. She was just the mannequin.

For what seemed like hours they argued. Both voices raised, until they were snarling at one another across the desk. At one point a Lieutenant made the mistake of coming into the room with a stack of papers for Major-General Spencer to sign. Identical glares pinned the poor Lieutenant on the spot, and he fled, door slamming shut behind him.

Turning back to Spencer, Peggy snapped, “Are we done, sir?”

“With this conversation? Not a chance.” Beneath his bushy eyebrows his eyes blazed, “You _will_ be a Lieutenant Colonel before the year is up. I won’t hear another word about it.”

She didn’t respond. Just lifted her chin, jaw jutting out in a display of sheer bull-headedness. He sighed and sank into his seat.

“Peggy,” his tone softened, “you are the most competent and decorated of my officers. You deserve this.”

She wanted to throttle him.

Being promoted was- Well, it would feel like abandoning her boys in the cold. Never again able to go out with them in the field, mend their wounds, cover their backs, laugh and drink with them around a campfire in a Latvian winter.

Deserve this?

She didn’t-

She could never be-

Instead of saying something she would regret, Peggy clenched her teeth, saluted, and stormed out of the room.

The weather outside matched her mood: blustery, dreary, and pouring down rain. She turned up her collar and sprinted for the car Howard had left for her use in spite of her vehement protests. He never could resist flashing his wealth to anyone who would look at him twice, even if they didn’t give a damn. At least in this instance his ostentation was useful – she _did_ drive the car near every day.

Today, however, was simply not her day.

Rain dripping from her nose and chin, hair a bedraggled mess, she stuck the key into the ignition and turned. The car spluttered. Peggy cursed and struck the steering wheel with the flat of her palm. She tried starting the car multiple times, and each time it failed she grew more and more frustrated. She was fuming and gritting back angry tears when there came a knock on the window.

Apparently the girl from earlier was an exceptionally bright American engineer, who also had no idea of personal space. She fixed Peggy’s car alright, but then sat beside her like a dog eagerly awaiting praise.

The very last thing Peggy wanted was for a sweet, blonde American to remind her of everything she’d lost, today of all days. Hands twisting on the steering wheel, Peggy managed a scratchy, “Thank you.”

Somewhat appeased the girl left, and Peggy was by herself just like she’d wanted, and she couldn’t think of anything worse than driving back to her empty quarters, alone.


End file.
